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Compulsive Appreciation Disorder

I’m hesitant to call anything about my life a disorder because I know there are just a fuckton of psychiatrists out there just tapping their foot and waiting for the day that they can diagnose me with something. But I have to confess this one, because I think me and the dude both suffer from compulsive appreciation disorder (We are such cads, you know.)

So what is Compulsive Appreciation Disorder? Really? I thought it was pretty self-explanatory.

Okay, so say you were asked the last time you said I love you. And you’d be all, oh, this morning before my bugaboo went off to school. Or when my loving life partner got back from whatever they do all day. Or to the mail lady because you just got your extra special battery operated twat massager in the mail and you just couldn’t help yourself.

If you asked me, I’d say yeah, I said “I love you” for all those things, but I’d also have to admit I just said it like five times in the kitchen while we were cooking. This is not a euphemism.

I was cooking a paleo-friendly pad thai on the stove and he was doing the dishes and prepping vegetables for meals later this weekend. And we just kept saying it.

Me: “Dude, I love you.”

Him: “I love you too!”

Me: “Really? We have so much in common! I love you!”

Him: “We should totally get married!”

Our house is filled with “I love you” and “Thank you for kicking so much ass” and “Man, how cool are we?” All the time.

And you’re now sitting there thinking, oh, how sweet. I love to hear about newlyweds who are still just so into the goddamned relationship that they talk like that.

But we’ve been married for fourteen years. And it’s like this all the time. Well, 95% of the time. Somedays we bitch and snipe. Maybe once every three months. The rest of the time, it’s a motherfuckin’ compliment fiesta up in here.

And I love it.

I am a vulgar housewife and I am living with Compulsive Appreciation Disorder. And I’ll say nice things about you too if you don’t watch your step.